T'was the Day

T'was the day before Christmas and at every in-house,

copywriters were stirring

to sell you dumb sh!t.

The day before Christmas.

Retailers say it competes with the busiest shopping day of the year (take that, black people I mean friday). Analysts studying consumer trends note 2006 as a record year for procrastinators, forcing popular brands to make drastic last-minute mark-downs. Good for your wallet. Bad if you’re in ad sales.

Imagine the task: creating an ad/image/scheme that will cut through the chaff of flashy retail mumbo jumbo and get noticed by John Q Public.

INT. LEO MATHER BULIDING-- DAY

Surrounded by a YOUNG UPSTART, ATYPICAL ASIAN, MESSENGER BAG GUY, and FUNNY GIRL, YOU wait eagerly for the HEAD HONCHO to dole out assignments.

HEAD HONCHO(fashionably late):

Maybe you didn’t notice the mistletoe above my door. Maybe you didn’t get a fifty-dollar bonus check signed "Santa." Either way, the holiday season is upon us. As you know, we’ve been hired by Popular Retailer X. Now Johnson in market research says people associate X brand with words like “safety,” “performance,” and “cheesecake.” So, the question is how do we build this into a final quarter sales boost?

YOUNG UPSTART:
What if we emphasize X’s enduring, positive attributes with seasonal slogans? Something like “X’s product. Let the spirit of Christmas last all year long.”

ATYPICAL ASIAN:
Yeah and we can show a husband a wife kissing in X during all four seasons.

FUNNY GIRL:
And then they pass out because they haven’t had any food.

HEHO:
Sounds good. How soon can we get some story boards?

MESSENGER BAG GUY:
Say the word and I’ll bike to Kinko’s.

YOU:
Wait a second, didn’t Ogilvy do that same campaign for Krustez® Saltines?

HEHO:
Damnit. Time for Plan B(abes). Assistant, start calling supermodels. And get me a double-shot Latte. I’ve got some lovin’ to do.

CART: "HOT STUFF"

FADE TO MONOTONY

The “ sex sells” mantra has put many companies and products on the map, but not all agencies go the love canal route—and I’ve seen some ads this season that made me think, “Hey, that’s good copywriting.” (nice work, kohl’s. I love you, Geico.) But style aside, our culture is saturated with product advertisements. Just check out this Frontline Special (brought to you by PBS). In this kind of climate, how long until the DMV rents wall space? Until ads are printed on airplane window sliders? How long until there’s a Market Research Barbie…and friend Christie (conscience sold separately)?

I understand agencies must invent new ways to compete. Just don’t make consumers casualties on brand battle ground.

Se Continúa.

supplying the latest in Father/Daughter exchange.

LIVING ROOM- DAY

Dad is making a list for the store. Daughter is fixing a bowl of Cheerios.

Dad:

Is there anything special you want to eat for Christmas?

Daughter:
Dodo breast.

Dad:
Ah, yes. I'll prepare it in the special way that makes it taste like chicken.

I. . .Pardon You

If Jesus had a toupe.

So there's been a lot of controversy, hub-bub if you will, surrounding the recent Miss USA scandal. What happened, re-edited Associated Press?

From "Trump Lets Miss USA Keep Her Job"
Dec 19, 2:18 PM EST

NEW YORK -- Miss USA Tara Conner, who had come under criticism amid rumors she had been frequenting bars while underage, will be allowed to keep her title, Donald Trump announced Tuesday.

Trump, who owns the Miss Universe Organization with NBC, said, "I've always been a believer in second chances, unless they involve women named Ivana. And Marla."

Conner won the title in April and has been living in New York. Recent media accounts of heavy drinking brought a storm of criticism, since she was underage at the time. She turned 21 on Monday.

Trump said he and Conner had met earlier Tuesday morning.

"She left a small town in Kentucky and she was telling me that she got caught up in the whirlwind of New York," Trump said, inviting residents to consider the overwhelming buzz of the city famous for wind so strong it knocks fake IDs and Smirnoff Ice into the hands of underage youth.

Artificial chest heaving, Conner said, "In no way did I think it would be possible for a second chance to be given to me."

Trump said Conner would be entering rehab.

Hmm, I guess it's okay to drink your way across Manhattan illegally...if you know the Donald. Might this be another case where celebrity status dissolves the bonds of law? Don't know, just don't act suprised if Conner shows up naked at ribbon-cutting in Toledo.

Miss USA Gone Wild, anyone?

Am I right?

INT. BEDROOM --JUST NOW
After watching The Greg Behrendt Show (He's just not that into, well, he kinda-sorta hates you), Daughter decides to check in on Dad.

Daughter (interrogation style):
What's going on in here?

Dad, laying prostrate. Reading Lundlum's Bancroft Strategy.

Dad(points to lamp):

Got a new light source.

Daughter:

Good so you can read.

Dad:

It aids me in the art of reclination.

Daughter:

Reclining.

Dad:

Yes, recliniation.

Daughter:

Declination.

Dad:
It makes reading more com fort able.

SECONDS PASS

Dad:

Could you hand me a pencil?

Daughter turns on selective hearing. She's just not that into Dad.

Dad (cont'd):
Really, it's the third typo I've seen in this book. Kind of shockin--

Daughter, realizing:

It's not a typo, it's a secret code! Find out which letters are missing and the page numbers. Unscramble the letters (hands over pencil), and write them on the last page. They'll lead you to a safety deposit box which contains all the names of everyone ever who will win a Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes. By accepting this pencil, the fate of national security is in your hands.

Dad:

Nevermind I'll just dog ear.

MOMENTS LATER

Dad, unsolicited:

Yeah, I really liked Ludlum's other books, the Bourne Identity stuff. Didn't they make that into a movie? With what's his name Matt, ...um, Matt Daymone?

Daugther:
Don't try to act like it's the first time you're saying that name! Like I didn't read it last night in your diary!

Dad:
Damon, yes. Well, I saw the movie and--

Daughter:
Dear Diary, I saw Matt Damon on TV today. He is just so cute--

Dad:
I thought they did a good job--

Daughter:
And those dimples!

Dad:
I think I'm probably going to end up with Alzheimers.


.:HAPPY HOLIDAYS:.

Wii Be Jammin'

Vacation means I can do nothing. Without academic consequences. I can have arguments with my dad. I can reunite with my cat (last letter ended "send catnip"). And I can indulge in whatever newfangled multimedia sidetrack that's come out and my brother has purchased. This Christmas, that's the Nintendo Wii.
The Wii, Nintendo's most recent gaming console, was released last month. Since then, more than a million have sold world-wide, with thousands flying off shelves in minutes. Intended to compete with the PlayStation 3, the Wii offers a new kind of gameplay: motion sensing.
Each console comes with a hand joystick and a wiimote, which detect player movement, speed and intensity. While the Wii may not boast freaky commericals, the console does mean integrated gaming. Pray elaborate with pictures, you say?

Super Monkey Ball Banana Blitz.

It's about more than chasing b-a-n-a-n-a-ss around an Island. It's about developing the critical hand-eye coordination necessary for climbing up the corporate ladder. Choose from half a dozen characters, each with different strengths, and try your hand at over fifty games, challenges and puzzles. But be forwarned--the Blitz might bring out a dirty competitive streak. My party of four spend hours attempting to out-do each other in the simplest game ever: jump rope.

Wii Sports

The simulations are life-like and moderately challenging, just make sure not to cause any damage. I'm fond of the tennis, which will jog up your heart rate and provide an excuse for skimpy, Serena-inspired tennis outfits (them Chinese can sew, boy!). The bowling, which includes a zoom in/out feature is fun and toe-fungus free. High score 209. If you're thinking about boxing, get prepared. Seriously, loosen your collar and do some streches before you go 3 rounds with an avatar (the black ones punch harder), and watch out. Just like real boxing, you have to move around, protect your face ("get those arms up!") and dodge all the uppercuts you see coming. Fortunately, the Wii's hyper-sensitive controls make jabbing fun at all ages, even if you're not in boxing shape . After three rounds of almost beating up the TV I was sweaty, sore, and...victorious.

Trauma Center: Second Opinion.

Forget everything you learned in Biochem. All you need to be a surgeon in this game is electricity. Work your way through a docket of patients with progressively serious ailments (from "Kiss my boo-boo" to "I have a shard of glass in my heart") all the time skipping through Nurse Betty's annoying banter (just hit -). If the power to save CG lives doesn't do it for you, you'll at least score a few for the Words I Use When I Want To Sound Smart bank. Plus, loading's the shortest residency ever.

After a week of gameplay, I admit I've had fun. Does that mean I'm leaving right now to tattoo a pic of my fav av to my r. arm? No.

But I'm definitely wiintertained.

home is where da haters is

Ah yes, the holidays. Time for overpriced gift baskets. Figgy pudding. Passive-aggressive family arguments. First one transcribed here.

INT. FAMILY KITCHEN -FIVE MINUTES AGO

Dad is sick. Assume soup is chicken noodle.

Dad:

You and your sister had some garlic yesterday. Will you find it for me and add it to the soup?


Daughter(stoops to open fridge drawer):

Fine. It's the best computer out there. It has everything I need.

Dad:

Yeah, yeah.

Daughter (beligerent):

Similar PCs cost twice as much! And they don't have everything I need!

Dad:

I'm sure--

Daughter(checks the upper fridge film cubby):

It's true! I've been looking for months! How do you think I did that video?

Dad:

I know, It's probably the best thing for you, it has all the graphics and design and stuff you do.

Daughter (neck deep in the left cabinet, you know, the one with that santa tin you see every year and you're like 'what's in that tin?" so you open it up and it's old recipies for cornbread):

I think h---n only bought one clove. Plus, I already have all the software.

Dad:

She bought more. I saw--

Daughter:

You're sending me on a wild goose chase here!

Dad:

Look in the pantr-

Daughter:

Goose chase!

Dad:

What do you mean you have all the software? You're doing this illegal stuff, don't end up in jail.

Daughter:

The Mac Book Pro is wireless. Plus it's under six pounds. My PC weighs 8!

Dad (in whiny baby voice):

Aw, eight pounds.

Daughter:

Are you patronizing me?

Dad:

You're patronizing me. Listen, I don't doubt it's the best thing for you. It has all that software and stuff you use. Just don't expect me to pay for it. (beat)

Daughter (secretly disappointed):

I don't see any more garlic.

Dad:

Fine. You've been looking for months.

FADE TO DISDAIN

___

updates pending.

Not Fo' Sho'

I usually assume nothing's going on in Arizona. And I'm usually right. Then I saw this.



Some cops in Tempe were about to arrest some African Americans for littering. The encounter was part of a segment for "TempeStreetbeat," Arizona's homespun version of Cops. Instead of giving a ticket, the cop issued an ultimatum: Do a rap, on camera, or I'll fine you.

Really? The old I-will-legally-penalize-unless-you-act-like-a-stereotype-for-all-the-world-to-see routine? Sounds like the older You-negars-is-real-good-at-a'singin'-and-a'dancin'-hail-hitler act.

The cop later said, "You know I'm right...because I have a badge and a gun." Note to self: moral rectitude is ascertained by appearance.

I guess the next time I get pulled over I'll skip the "what seems to be the problem officer?" bit and just soft shoe my way scott free.

Fine or a gross cultural oversimplification? Either way, I'm keeping some Morton Salt in the glove compartment.